Spectrum
by LadyHeatherlly
Summary: A chronological series of recollections based on eight different roles Morgana has played in Merlin's life throughout the years.
1. Part I: The Great Beauty

**Part I: The Great Beauty**

Merlin had never believed women like the Lady Morgana existed before he'd come to Camelot.

Like most children, he'd been raised on grand tales of knights and chivalry, men who had been inspired to perform acts of great courage in exchange for the favor of the one who held their heart's devotion. He had heard countless legends about genteel ladies who were so gracious, so breathtakingly radiant, that brave knights had gladly sacrificed their lives in tribute to their beauty.

Merlin had always rolled his eyes at such nonsense. What kind of fool would go off and get himself killed just to impress a girl? And what sort of cruel hearted person would expect such a thing anyway?

The women he knew were nothing like that and he was glad for it. In his tiny village, older women were gentle, hardworking and kind. Like his mother, Hunith, they took care of their husbands and sons, asking only that the men tend to the duties that were necessary for their family's survival in return.

They _definitely_ didn't send them off to hunt monsters on their behalf, and the men certainly showed no interest in embarking on perilous quests for no good reason. Who had time for such foolishness, when there were cows to be milked, crops to be harvested, buildings to mend, and a dozen other chores that required their constant attention?

Merlin's feelings on the subject hadn't changed when he'd grown old enough to take an interest in girls himself. Sure, there were a few in his village who were quite pretty, and he felt warm inside whenever one of them happened to look in his direction. But that had never inspired him further than offering to carry a heavy bucket of water, so he might spend a few extra minutes in their company.

He sure didn't feel the urge to go off and fight a dragon, simply because this girl smelled good or that one had once told him he had a nice smile.

No, such grand tales had always seemed ridiculous to him... that is, until he'd come to Camelot and had seen_ her_ for the first time.

Merlin vividly remembered the night she'd come floating into the banquet hall, clad in a burgundy gown that had displayed her slender figure to perfection. He would never forget the tendrils of rich, dark hair that had caressed her bare shoulders, nor the knowing little smile that had played around her lips as she'd clearly felt the enraptured gaze of every man in the room upon her.

Suddenly, those old legends he'd always scoffed at hadn't seemed so foolish to Merlin anymore. Because in that moment, he was quite sure he would've given his life just to have her notice him.


	2. Part II: The Confidant

**Part II: The Confidant**

"What if magic isn't something you choose? What if it chooses you?"

Morgana's question hung heavy in the air between them, sending a shiver down Merlin's spine. He searched her face intently, both fearing to believe and desperately hoping she'd meant the words she'd just spoken.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked him curiously, and then there was no choice but to brush it off as if it had been some casual comment... not words of premonition that had the potential to bring about a change so momentous that Merlin could hardly imagine the possibilities.

If she _really_ believed Uther was wrong, what could it mean for him... and for all of those who possessed magic? Standing right in front of him could be a powerful ally, the King's ward herself, willing to champion their cause.

Merlin suddenly realized that he'd known all along that there was something different about Morgana. The nightmare that had predicted Sophia's enchantment upon Arthur would have been enough to indicate that she was no ordinary person, but beyond that, it was just a feeling he had. And it had been there from the very first time he'd ever laid eyes upon her.

Gaius suspected it, too, but his response was quite different. He looked upon Morgana with fear and dread, as if the possibility of her possessing special abilities were a mortal illness that could only end in tragedy. Why?

His reasoning was that she was the King's ward, far too close to Uther to ensure her safety. But if that were it, surely Merlin himself was in no less danger, considering his close proximity to the King's son? Gaius seemed to feel that Merlin needed to be taught to control his gifts, that knowledge itself was the key to keeping them concealed.

Why should it be any different for Morgana?

Merlin sighed as he helped her tend to the wounded Druid boy that lay secluded in her chambers. There was so much he still couldn't comprehend about all this sorcery business, and having a friend, a confidant, someone who didn't seem to believe magic was shameful at all... knowing he had someone so understanding to talk to would be immensely comforting.

But he had no choice but to heed Gaius' stern warnings, and so he remained silent.


	3. Part III: The Faithful Friend

**Part III: The Faithful Friend**

"We're coming with you."

It was entirely possible that Merlin had fallen in love with Morgana long before she'd spoken those four simple words, but that was the day he'd first admitted it to himself.

He'd only needed to set eyes upon her once to recognize how beautiful she was, to admire the grace in her every word and gesture. She had the face of a queen, and the pride and dignity to match it, royalty in every sense of the word. That would surely have been enough for any man to become infatuated with the lady Morgana, but it was all the things Merlin _hadn't_ expected that had truly earned his heart's devotion.

How could he have possibly guessed that she would be so _kind_? How could he have known about the compassionate soul that would lead someone like her to stand up against injustice as she saw it, never seeming to care whether or not the person she was defending was a simple peasant, or even the most humble servant?

She even spoke on behalf of those with magic, despite a lifetime of being inundated with Uther's implacable hatred and relentless annihilation of those very same people. The King's prejudice never seemed to touch her, displaying an unbelievable strength of spirit, a fierce, uncompromising independence that left Merlin in awe of her every time he saw righteous fury flash in her deep green eyes.

And it wasn't only words; when the time had come to prove the strength of her convictions, she had stood behind Merlin, defying the King himself in order to travel to a poor, distant village where she didn't know a soul, only to risk her life to defend what she believed to be right.

As they fought together for the freedom of Ealdor, Merlin watched her sword flash in the sunlight, her slender body moving gracefully as she swung, dodged and parried, incapacitating one man after another with her seemingly effortless motions.

He'd never known Morgana could fight with the skill of a warrior, and it was yet another facet of her personality he accepted with a great deal of amazement. It seemed as if every time he thought he had her all figured out, she found yet another way to surprise him.

Merlin couldn't be quite sure if the love he felt for her was friendship of the deepest kind, or something more. And in the end, he supposed it didn't matter; he was simply grateful that he was lucky enough to know her at all.


	4. Part IV: The Kindred Soul

**Part IV: The Kindred Soul**

She needed him.

She _needed_ him, because she was _like_ him.

The suspicions had been there for months, only now, they had been confirmed. Morgana had magic, even if she didn't realize it herself. She was isolated, bewildered, and terrified upon the onset of her powers, just as Merlin himself had been before he'd begun to understand the truth behind his gifts.

No, that wasn't completely true, for what Morgana must be feeling was infinitely worse. After all, when Merlin himself had shivered in his tiny cottage, wishing the fire would burn hotter and it had, his mother had comforted him. Perhaps she hadn't been able to tell him exactly what his strange abilities had meant, but she'd at least accepted him, embracing him gently as she told him how special he was.

From her, he had learned that such things must remain a secret; not because there was anything wrong with _him_, but simply due to the fact that there were some people who would not understand.

But even with his mother's love, and all of the knowledge and comfort Gaius had offered when he'd come to Camelot, Merlin had known more loneliness, fear, confusion, and pain than he would ever admit to another soul.

If it was so hard for him to cope with his gifts with the support of others to bolster his spirits, how must it be for her? She had no one to explain what it all meant. The very people who _should_ have been there to accept her just the way she was would be far more likely to order her execution if they ever knew the truth.

She needed him. Morgana, bright eyed, beautiful, compassionate, one of the most loyal friends he had ever known... she was more alone than anyone could possibly imagine, and he had it within his power to relieve a great deal of her suffering. Why couldn't he just follow the instincts that were screaming at him to help her? Why must he ignore his better judgment, everything he believed to be right, simply because Gaius didn't approve?

Gaius was _wrong_. He knew it in his heart, and yet, he could do nothing.

... or _could_ he?

Merlin had promised Gaius that he wouldn't tell Morgana himself, and had every intention of keeping his word to his beloved guardian, no matter how deeply it hurt him to do so. But what about the Druids? They were helpers, healers, a people who understood magic and did not fear it. If he could find a way that Morgana might be able to seek them out, he could give her the comfort she so desperately needed, and all without breaking his vow.

He could only hope it would be enough.


	5. Part V: The Forsaken

**Part V: The Forsaken**

Her eyes were distant, haunted, fearful.

Day after day, Merlin witnessed her pain and could do nothing to offer comfort. He stood by in the council chambers as Uther raged about the evils of sorcery, trying not to notice the way her lower lip quivered as she was stung deeply by the unknowing rejection. He felt it in his heart, too, that familiar drop in his stomach upon the realization that he was listening to a man who believed he deserved to die for the simple crime of being born.

But it was nothing compared to what it did to her, he knew, the fragile young woman who was forced to endure the condemnation of the King that might as well have been her own father.

The executions were the worst. Once, there had been a time when Morgana would have raged at Uther, no matter how futile her efforts might have been, struggling to prevent the deaths of people who were completely innocent in her eyes.

She didn't fight anymore. Instead, her face would grow ashen as the sentence was passed, and with a quiet word to Gwen, she would withdraw to her chambers. Sometimes Merlin wouldn't see her again until days later, and when he did, she was always silent and withdrawn.

He was often obligated to deliver Morgana's sleeping draught, but she no longer met him at the door with a smile and a kind word. It was Gwen who greeted him in her place, her features showing noticeable strain as she murmured thanks on behalf of her mistress, then quickly returned to her duties.

Then, as if from out of nowhere, the day came when the nightmares stopped. Color bloomed in Morgana's cheeks once more, and the endless supply of potions remained untouched. She seemed happier, less lonely, and somehow at peace with herself, and Merlin was glad for it. He couldn't be certain of the cause, but it was difficult to be skeptical about anything that brought quiet joy to a face that had shown nothing but sadness for months on end.

Had she finally found the acceptance within herself that none had been able to give her? Was it simply the passing of time that had soothed her wounds? Whatever it was, Morgana seemed like herself again at long last, and had even worked up the courage to call Uther a heartless fool when he'd commanded Arthur to hunt down a sorcerer who was rumored to be camped out somewhere near the western borders.

But one thing had changed forever; the easy camaraderie and unspoken trust that had once existed between them was gone. Morgana approached him with distant, formal politeness now, and worse, Merlin knew it was entirely his fault.


	6. Part VI: The Betrayed

**Part VI: The Betrayed**

How could anyone that was guilty of treachery look so innocent?

Morgana stared at Merlin with wide, bewildered eyes, seeming as if she were genuinely baffled as to why she alone remained awake, while the entire city of Camelot had fallen under a powerful spell that held them captive in an endless, unnatural slumber.

Why couldn't her face take on some other form, one that reflected her traitorous intentions? How could he believe she meant to do harm to _anyone_, when the soft, gentle features he'd always known and loved insisted otherwise?

And yet, he _had_ to believe it, for the proof was all around him. The magic had been woven with evil intent, and Morgana herself was the source.

A tiny voice inside Merlin whispered that maybe she didn't know... maybe she was as much a victim as anyone else that inhabited the city. Perhaps she had been under the effects of enchantment when it had happened; after all, Merlin knew Morgana herself wasn't capable of such powerful magic. _Maybe..._

He silenced the thought.

No, he _had_ to believe she was guilty, for if his heart left room for the possibility of her innocence, he could never do the terrible thing that was necessary in order to save Camelot. His destiny would be a failure, a dream left unfulfilled.

It didn't matter... it _couldn't_ matter. Whatever the truth might be, Merlin had no choice but to destroy the source of the wicked enchantment.

He had to kill Morgana.

But if she were the one who had knowingly committed a betrayal, wouldn't her own treachery lead her to view others with the utmost suspicion? Why then, did she take the water skin from his hand and hold it to her lips so trustingly, never showing a flicker of doubt in his good intentions?

If she were so different, why did there remain such gentle softness in the anguished eyes that stared at him in disbelief, as she clutched at her throat and frantically gasped for air? Why did it seem as if Merlin himself had wounded her more deeply than the hemlock that spread through her veins, stealing away her final breaths as she slowly suffocated before his tear filled gaze?

Merlin was relieved when Morgause gave him an excuse to call it off at the last second. In his heart, he knew he might be doing a terrible thing in giving the powerful sorceress the power to cure Morgana, as he saw the fury burning in her cold, dark eyes. She would not forgive, nor would she forget what he had done.

But in the end, he knew he had no other choice. He could not watch her die.


	7. Part VII: The Avenger

**Part VII: The Avenger**

On one hand, it was almost a relief to see Morgana sitting on her stolen throne, smirking coldly at the King, her father, who had been usurped so thoroughly.

After months of trying to prevent her numerous treacheries while the rest of the court had remained ignorant to her real intentions, Merlin couldn't help breathing a sigh of relief now that the truth was finally known.

The respite was short-lived. It was as if he'd plunged his head into a bucket of water to escape smoke that choked his lungs, only to realize he could not take another breath.

The immortal army Morgause had raised on Morgana's behalf filled the Citadel to overflowing, looming, sinister, unconquerable. There was a cold, hard gleam in the new Queen's eyes, and Merlin knew in that moment that there was no going back. This wasn't some irrational flash of anger that might easily pass when Morgana came to her senses. She was another person entirely, and everything she'd once been was gone.

Light had been conquered by darkness, innocent joy snuffed out by hateful vengeance. No, there was no going back. The past was gone forever, and the future seemed doomed to ultimate failure.

Why had he not seen it sooner? Why hadn't he listened to the warnings? Why hadn't he tried to alert someone, _anyone_, to Morgana's treacherous actions, even if he'd known how unlikely it was that his word would ever be believed? Why hadn't he done something more to prevent such a terrible outcome?

Worst of all was the bewildered disbelief Merlin saw in Arthur's eyes. The poor, guileless prince was being forced to face any number of harsh, painful realities that he surely had never expected. His father had lied to him. The companion he'd grown up with was actually his sister, but right on the heels of that realization, he was hit with the knowledge that his own blood craved his future throne and wanted to see him dead.

And on top of that, his beloved kingdom was under a brutal attack; citizens he loved and defended with his life were dying by hundreds, and he was helpless to prevent the atrocities that had already been committed against them.

Merlin could almost feel the hope draining away, as Arthur's body sagged against the bars of the alcove where they were hidden. And he knew that as much as he might have been tempted to lose himself in self-pity, reliving torturous reminders of his own unintentional part in the catastrophe that had unfolded, he didn't have that luxury.

Arthur needed him. He needed his strength, his courage, his faith. And whether he knew it or not, he needed his magic most of all.

Morgana was now the enemy. There was no time to regret the past, no hesitating to wonder how the present might have been prevented if he'd taken on another path. Nothing changed the fact that it was now upon them, and would not wait for them to understand what it all meant.

Still, Merlin paused to gaze down at Morgana one last time, allowing himself a moment of grief for the cherished friend he had lost.


	8. Part VIII: The Nemesis

**Part VIII: The Nemesis**

Emrys could easily destroy her.

A single incantation, as familiar to him as breathing, and the remaining life would be sucked from Morgana's broken body. One flash of gold, no more than the blink of an eye, and she would be food for the crows.

Emrys knew a hundred ways to strike her dead, an effortless task that would be met with no resistance; not like it would have made a difference even if it had been. He'd felt the full force of her power, and had brushed it aside as a minor annoyance... nothing more than a buzzing insect that must be swatted away.

Emrys could bring about her destruction, his mighty powers bolstered by the strength of destiny behind him, whisperings of a fate that told him she was the living, breathing embodiment of the hatred that it was his life's work to eradicate.

Yes, Emrys could do it.

Merlin did not find it so easy.

Morgana lay at his feet, helpless and unmoving, as Merlin stared down at her from behind the visage of an ancient man, searching her pale, strained features intently as he hesitated.

_She tortured you,_ he reminded himself furiously. _She enchanted you and tried to force you to kill Arthur! She murdered the King!_

His mouth opened and closed, but he couldn't quite speak the words.

_You have to do this. Think of all the harm she has already inflicted. Think of the suffering she has brought down upon Camelot in her insane lust for vengeance. Think of the countless times she's tried to hurt Arthur, Gwen, everyone you care about. End it, Merlin. Do it now!_

He extended his hand over Morgana's prone body, gnarled fingers shaking ever so slightly under the force of the power that coursed through his veins. She was at his mercy; all he had to do was utter the spell, and it would be over.

But as Merlin gazed down at her unconscious face, memories assaulted his conflicted mind. Reminders of her numerous treacheries faded away, replaced by a vision of a serene young girl clad in a burgundy dress, floating into the room with a gentle smile playing around her lips.

He saw her weeping as she worried over Arthur, giving comfort to Gwen in moments of despair, then standing steadfast at his own side as she helped him defend his home from invaders.

And then, he remembered her unyielding courage, the unwavering conviction in her eyes when she'd championed the innocent, feeling a lump form in his throat as the distant sound of carefree, affectionate laughter echoed in his ears, unforgettable despite all the years that had passed since he'd heard the sound. How sweet her voice had once been, throughout those innocent years when her words were never laced with cruelty or bitterness.

"She is the hatred to your love."

It was love that stayed his hand in that final moment, as he sighed heavily, then turned and walked away.

Emrys could destroy the witch that threatened Albion's bright future. But Merlin could never kill the vibrant woman he had cherished in the past.


End file.
